|
|
|
|
|
|
in the act of love. But Ian's eyes had not been closed. It was her face he had devoured with his looksuntil he remembered she had been Simon's wife. Alinor rolled her wine goblet between her hands, then sipped from it, although she knew wine would not warm the chill she felt. Was even the simple pleasure of bedding to be denied her? |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
How could she explain to Ian that the body was something Simon understood, that Simon would never blame them or think less of them for enjoying each other? That Ian desired her physically was plain enough. That he thought the desire wrong was equally plain. What does that mean for me? Alinor wondered. Will he be disgusted by me, hate me, if I expose my need and my satisfaction with its fulfillment? Tears burned her eyes, but she did not let them fall. I will always be "Simon's wife," she thought. In his mind there is another woman that he wishes were "Ian's wife." Thus, I must remain Simon's wife to whom he must do his duty. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The heavy thought lay on her mind and was not lightened by the formal manner with which Ian took his leave. Of necessity her farewell was equally formal. Ian said he would keep her informed, and turned away cursing himself for his unguarded display of passion. The warmth and friendship had gone out of her. It is not I, myself, she finds repugnant, Ian told himself, wishing he felt as sure as the words sounded. It is an offense to her that I could desire her so soon after Simon's death. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Fool of a woman," he muttered under his breath, "does she think that Simon's shade casts some kind of pall on her beauty? How can I sit by her and look at her and speak to herand yet not desire her? I am not made of stone!" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Lord?" Owain asked. "Did you speak?" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Only to myself," Ian said wryly. "It is a sign of aging." |
|
|
|
|
|